


The Underbelly

by EsculentEvil



Series: EsculentEvil's BatJokes Shots [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, The LEGO Batman Movie (2017)
Genre: Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mystery, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Stress Eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsculentEvil/pseuds/EsculentEvil
Summary: Please enjoy this coping card of self-indulgent therapy because this quote is Rated Everybody.Note: you could say this takes place afterSpecial, but you could also say it doesn’t.This was originally posted to my Tumblr @esculentevil





	The Underbelly

**Author's Note:**

> If you are easily triggered by self-bodyshaming, please don't read this.  
> If you want to read Batman loving Joker despite the things he hates about himself, please read this.

_“Too much flab; not enough ab.”_

Those words have been haunting Batman since the day he and the Joker saved the city of Gotham. They echo in his ears more gratingly than the clown’s laugh (that he  **also**  can’t seem to forget) and frustrate him to no end. But it’s not just the words: the look of embarrassment and  **shame**  on that sweet face; the way the clown couldn’t look him in the eyes and turned his suddenly shy gaze away; the anxious lip twitching that he’d never seen before and hopes to never see again—the fact that it seemed the Joker  **hated**  something about himself.

It almost makes Batman want to punch him until he’s fixed.

( _He’s not a machine, though._ ) the large bat thinks to himself. He quickly brushes away the image of him going at the Joker with an ax or hammer like they’re two cartoon characters from the 90′s or 80′s. ( _Not even a punch or slap is going to fix this_.) He isn’t dumb enough  ~~for once~~  to think  **that**.

He just isn’t smart enough to think of what  **will**.

This leads him to do pretty much nothing—nothing but  **notice**  things.

 

* * *

 

 

The Joker never wears tight clothing.

From his large trench coat to his loose button-ups, there’s always a bit of slack in  **everything**  the Joker puts on. Batman notices this several times (as he chases the lunatic across the city, as he tackles the clown to the ground, as he ties him up or handcuffs him) before he actually tries to ask about it. The response he gets (that it’s due to all the layers he wears) is not entirely surprising—although it is certainly suspect—and Batman would have accepted it; but when Batman suggests he  _wear less, then_ , the Joker turns  **red**. He then starts yelling, claiming he gets  _cold easily_  and that  _it’s all in the name of fashion!_

But it’s when he gets  **tearful**  in his poor attempt at self-defense that Batman realizes it’s his first solid clue as to what is wrong.

And he has no idea what to do with it. He tries to file it away in his mind but that kind of leads to him forgetting about it for a long while. This is why it takes the Joker refusing to see  _his Bat_  while in his Arkham scrubs because  _they’re too small_  for Batman to even begin piecing things together.

He doesn’t like the picture he’s starting to see, either.

He ends up having to pull off his cape and throw it over the clown (to hide him) so that he can get the information his enemy promised him; and when he leaves, the lights have to be off so he can’t see anything—especially not the lunatic.

 

* * *

 

 

The Joker never goes out in the rain.

This one had not seemed important or pertinent, at first, and Batman had not originally filed it away with the bagginess and layers as a result. In fact, he had always thought the lack of criminal clown during a down pour was just because of his make-up: it would surely run if he were caught out in one. But it turns out that wasn’t it—not at **all**.

And Batman finds this out—by mistake—on a bright, sun-shiny day.

They had been fighting each other at the docks while Harley and Robin kept each other busy near an ice-cream shop (they were arguing over flavors, believe it or not). The Joker had planted a bomb on some elite person’s yacht and Batman had to make sure the clown didn’t make it explode (Barbara was trying to defuse it—just in case).

In the end, Batman just tackled the mad man and let the water take care of it.

When they surface, however, the Bat finds himself chasing after  ~~his~~  the clown for a whole  **new**  reason. This doesn’t register at first: Batman just swam after the lunatic when he noticed him trying to get away—par for the course. It’s only when he grabs the fleeing man that he realizes something is wrong.

The Joker is screaming for Harley as though panicked.

This is odd as, normally, the Bat would be getting an earful for ruining the clown’s  _perfect_  plan. And, at first, he thinks it’s just a cry for a make-up fix—something bigger than just applying more lipstick. But he’s quickly proven wrong when a frantic Harley comes up to them with a comically large towel.

It’s at this point that Batman thinks back on the whole  _I get cold easily_  thing.

He’s going to drop it, too, because of that; but then he hears it: the quiet sob of  _don’t let him see it_.

 

* * *

 

 

After that, Batman becomes determined to figure out what  _it_  is.

He takes advantage of the Joker being put into Arkham almost immediately afterwards and goes to see him. He even takes an extra cape, just in case. This was wise, too, as it turns out the clown still thinks the scrubs are too small. So, as the Joker sits under his wings, the world’s greatest detective investigates.

And, at first, he fails ( _Do not EVER tell anyone._ ).

He fails to see the reality bared before him. He fails to see the truth he probably should have been seeing since day one. He fails to see the problem.

And, later, he’ll know that it’s just because he had never thought there  **was**  one.

To him, the Joker’s  **perfect** ; but it takes him time to see the other doesn’t agree.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Robin’s birthday when he finally understands it.

The clown and his harlequin had joined the celebration via the fact that they knew the Batcave’s location. It might have been called party crashing if it weren’t for the fact that they brought laughter and love with them. They even brought and gave a bunch of toys that Batman had never even heard of to his adopted son (he’s still trying to get used to having that) as birthday presents and both he and the  _Oldman Bat_  agreed to not ask how, exactly, the criminals got even one of them. A lot of hugs—which Batman still struggles with more often than not—were given, too, and, for that, he and Alfred let the possible thefts slide.

The singing and dancing helped, too.

The entire day was almost spent without Batman thinking about his little side mission concerning  ~~his~~  the little clown. But then the day ended—in rain. Rather than kick the two pseudo-friends out into that mess, Batman agreed to let them stay in a guest room (supposedly, Bruce Wayne is on a business trip, by the by, and that’s why he isn’t present—but he was  _consulted_  and did, in fact,  _agree_ ). Alfred set them up and Robin made it clear he knew not to take off his mask.

The kid did, however, question the logic of the Joker and Harley in  **one**  room.

Oddly, the two villains had sort of just looked at each other and laughed. They didn’t really explain why they chose to spend the night like that, either; they just said  _it’s what we want!_  and so they all dropped it. Still, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was  **clothes**.

After the two showered, they were going to need something fresh to change into—but obviously their own wardrobes weren’t in Wayne Manor. With Harley, this was solved pretty easily because she ended up fitting in Martha Wayne’s clothes (and she proved to be surprisingly careful with Bruce Wayne’s mother’s stuff so Batman stopped frowning and twitching over it pretty quickly). The Joker...

Yea: not so much.

Too tall for Dick’s child clothing and too thick for thin Alfred’s meant he could only wear Bruce Wayne’s clothes—Batman’s clothes (not that he knew that, though). And, honestly, the Bat thought it was cute: his shirts were all gigantic on the little goof and their dark colors contrasted beaut— **nicely**  with his bleached skin, red-stained lips, and bright green hair. Batman  **liked**  seeing the Joker in his clothes.

Joker didn’t seem to enjoy wearing them, though.

This had seemed strange to the Bat, at first, because he’d handed them over thinking that the clown would enjoy the baggy looseness—but all he’d gotten was a frown in return. He thought, perhaps, the colors just weren’t to the other’s liking (he, very obviously, likes vibrancy, after all) or maybe he just didn’t want to be in  **Bruce Wayne’s**  clothes (at which point, the Bat seriously considered just telling him, already, because that discomforted look was really hard to see).

But it wasn’t any of that.

Not at all.

 

* * *

 

 

It was 2 A.M. when the Bat finally figured it out.

The two ended up running into each other while seeking midnight meals (not that it was really midnight—you know what they mean!). Batman was aiming to heat up some more lobster thermidor when he found the Joker already eating in Bruce Wayne’s kitchen. He was dressed in the shirt he was given—one that reaches almost to his knees in a very  ~~appealing~~  endearing way—and probably the boxers underneath; he wasn’t wearing his sweat pants, however, which gave the Bat a very long glimpse at strong, lovely legs and surprisingly thick thighs.

Suffice to say, Batman liked what he saw.

The Joker didn’t seem to believe it, however, when he finally noticed the dark shadow in the doorway. His face paled and then turned bright red as he dropped the piece of cake he was eating and attempted to hide himself—not just his legs but everything from the chest down—behind the kitchen’s island. His claw-hands gripped the counter top like a lifeline and his darting eyes suggested he was looking for the fastest escape route  **away**  from his enemy.

It was jarring how much Batman didn’t want him to run.

He knew the layout of his home well enough to know, however, that the only other exit was the servant one that the Joker wouldn’t likely be able to notice—especially not as panicked as he is. This is why he makes sure to stay close to the entrance they both used and keep himself between the two.

He pretends to focus on the half-eaten cake, though, just in case: “You know this isn’t healthy, right?”

The Joker stiffens but doesn’t say anything. His caged, blue eyes look everywhere but the cake and the Bat. His razor-sharp teeth dig into his lip and the hero feels a chill go down his back; he makes a fist and fights the urge to actually  **use**  it as he begins to worry about where this confrontation is going.

He doesn’t want his enemy to  **leave**   ~~him~~.

Keeping his eye on  ~~his~~  the clown, Batman steps closer. He makes sure he’ll be able to leap over the island in the event that the Joker tries to bolt for the door when he begins to make his way around the object obstructing his view.

Luckily, the villain is lost in his own mind and doesn’t move.

This allows Batman to round the island and stand in front of the Joker. He still can’t figure out what the other is so worried about. Even up close, the little devil looks adorable: his claw-hands almost buried in Bruce’s sleeves, the slope of his neck and shoulder easily visible because the collar is so large on him, and the back end of the shirt curving gently over his surprisingly well endowed behind.

( _Learn something new..._ )

Batman honestly has no idea what is wrong; so, he blindly asks, “Are you gonna finish your cake?”and regrets it almost instantly. The Joker’s entire body tenses, eyes wide and breath hitching, as soon as the words are out of the caped crusader’s mouth. He rounds on the Bat, then, completely furious; and if it weren’t for Batman’s great reflexes, he’d have a face full of fist, right now.

“Shut  **up**! It’s not my  **fault**! I’m not  **fat**!” the villain screams, tears running down his suddenly flushed cheeks; a sob crawls its way out of his throat, “I’m not...”

A trembling body is suddenly in the Bat’s arms and he honestly has no idea if the Joker put himself there or if he pulled the clown in himself. He decides it doesn’t matter, though, when Bruce Wayne’s kitchen is just as suddenly filled with sobs; because what’s more important is that  **he has no idea what to DO**.

Sobs are caused by emotions—something he’s spent his whole life  **avoiding** ; which means he’s spent his whole life not knowing how to comfort somebody—he doesn’t even know how to comfort himself.

So, now that he has to try doing it with someone else... ( _Okay: don’t fail; just... do what Alfred does!_ ) What is that, though? Lobster thermidor? Suit party? Beat Boxing?! ( _No! That’s all for ME!_ ) So what, then, would be for  **him**?

Instantly, Batman has what he’s sure is a  **very**  bad idea; but it’s all he’s got, so: “You’re not fat; you’re just full of sugar—nothing wrong with that.”

It’s gruff and quiet and probably the most out of character thing he’s done since hugging someone—but it works: the sobs stop and the Joker looks up, blue eyes red and puffy but soft and happy; and, when the Bat smiles, the Joker does, too.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out: the answer was sugar.

The Joker, contrary to popular belief, is not as gay as most people think he is; in fact, he has depression. Any anti-depressant he’s ever tried (either because he thought it might help him or because Harleen, his doctor and psychiatrist, thought it might work for him) had either clashed horribly with his other medication (the ones that help him maintain  **some**  sanity) or actually made him worse (whether that means he gets suicidal or more anti-social than usual or  **both**  varies). The result of this is him just trying to manage it without pills or injections or anything.

Usually, he does a good job; sometimes, he flops.

When he flops, he eats sweets. They make him feel better (while he’s enjoying the sweetness) and gets his mind off his problem(s). They do, however, also make him...  _chubby_. It isn’t much, really: just some extra pounds on his belly; but it’s a nightmare for someone whom is depressed and thinks their only positive trait is their appearance—after all, we’re talking about a guy with mental health issues (so his  _mind is worth nothing_  even if the whole city thinks he’s a genius) whose wide range of skills are only used for chaos and destruction (because these are the only things that stimulate him and he literally cannot focus more than two seconds if he tries using any of his skills for  **good**  which is why he can always come up with intricate plots to ruin Gotham but not figure out what Batman wants him to do to save the city until it’s very clearly ordered) which causes him to fit poorly at best in a society that obviously doesn’t want him.

This means that, as long as the Joker looks good in the city of Gotham, he feels he belongs in it.

Which is fine—until he doesn’t think he looks good. It’s fine until he thinks he’s too fat for the slim average, too short for the tall buildings, and too grotesque for the glimmering utopia. This is why he’s always trying to ruin it: so that, maybe, he’ll fit in better; so that, maybe, he’ll be less of an eye-sore; so that, maybe, he won’t be an embarrassment and worthy of calling Gotham  **home**.

And this is how, as time goes on, Batman learns: the Joker likes  **loose and baggy**  because he can not only hide his  _fat_  but sculpt his image with the excess (which is hard to define with Bruce’s  **too large clothes** ); Harley calls Joker  _Sugar Plum_  to help reinforce that his love of sweets  **just**  makes him sweet (so the Bat—after blushing and stammering a lot—starts calling  ~~his~~  the clown [ _Jalebi_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jalebi) as a way of saying he’s sweet, annoying like the color orange, and that it’s all okay  ~~because he loves him as much as he loves that desert which holds a special place in his heart as his mother learned to make it after ~~a trip to Asia made her fall in love with it and it was literally the only thing he ever ate in his life that was **actually made BY his mother**~~~~  in the hopes of reinforcing this, too); a compliment about basically anything the clown chooses to wear is a wise thing to throw out there (especially when it’s something  **new** ); and that he should actually  **carry**  him back to Arkham rather than let  **someone else**   **drive**  him there when he flops.

And if he learns to say  _welcome home_  when Joker breaks into the Batcave (or Wayne Manor), set aside several of  ~~Bruce’s~~  his favorite  ~~merch~~  shirts for the clown to wear during his visits, and caress that flab in a way that’s loving and not insulting... well...

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone else that has lives days like this—whether you have depression/take medication/seek counselling or not—please remember: you’re beautiful, too; you belong here as much as the rest of us do; I’m here for you; I hope you find your Batsy, soon.


End file.
